


Brief encounters

by cigarettesandalcohol



Category: Men's Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angry Kissing, Bruno is the only one with brain, Hand Jobs, Love/Hate, M/M, they have a strange relationship but good for them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28598943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: "What the fuck is wrong with you two?" Bruno's accent and the concern in his voice cooled his mind a bit. He lowered his head, taking a deep breath. Bruno then turned to Victor, saying something in Portuguese first, before adding: "Should have fought like that on the pitch, eh?"
Relationships: Victor Lindelöf/Harry Maguire
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

Nobody was really sure what started the fight, although Harry knew he probably had only himself and his stupid, overprotective tendencies to blame, especially when he was trying to put them to use on one of his teammates, for whom being protected or even comforted by Harry Maguire had long been on the bottom of his list.

The game was shambles and the mood of the whole team dropped accordingly to that; while before the kickoff everyone seemed hyped up and ready for a battle, now all the players had their heads hanging down in disappointment. Paul was the one to give a post-match reaction and Harry gave him a long, sympathetic look because he knew how difficult it was to go and speak to the media after yet another painful loss. Then he joined the rest of the team in their slow, quiet, and dejected walk towards the dressing room. As they walked through the door, he placed his hand comfortingly on Victor's shoulder since Victor was the one physically closest to him now which might or might not have been a coincidence.

"It's ok, guys," he spoke, trying to cheer them up. Incidentally, his hand slid down between Vic's shoulder blades, and he hesitated for a moment. It was hard enough to find the right words that would lighten up the mood a bit while not disregarding tonight's result. "We'll get them next time."

He heard a miserable chuckle from someone in the room, and an approving ' _Come on guys_!' from somebody else which encouraged him to further non-verbal assurance of good spirit. He rubbed Victor's back, adding an encouraging "Heads up!" to what he believed to be a good-spirited gesture of showing his teammates that it's not the end of the world. In a split second, Victor turned around and slapped him across the face, and the sound seemed to echo around the room which turned dead silent immediately. Even Harry was too shocked to fully understand what has just happened. He raised his hand to touch the cheek that was burning, the pain only hit him later.

The sharp contrast between Victor's blue eyes and his dark hair was even more apparent now that his face was twisted with disgust, and he was saying something hateful that Harry couldn't understand - but the tone was clear; Harry could only comprehend a couple of ' _fucking_ 's in Vic's spiteful stream of verbal abuse.

Blood rushed into his head and he immediately took a step forwards to grab Victor - this wasn't at all new, it has just never happened so publicly, in front of everyone; but Fernandes rushed in, wrapping his arms around Harry and pushing him away with a decisive ' _Hey, hey, hey, hey_!' that snapped him back to reality. _He was supposed to be reasonable_. He was supposed to act like a captain, no matter how badly some of the players treated him; he should just not stoop this low.

"What the fuck is wrong with you two?" Bruno's accent and the concern in his voice cooled his mind a bit. He lowered his head, taking a deep breath. Bruno then turned to Victor, saying something in Portuguese first, before adding: "Should have fought like that on the pitch, eh?"

Bruno was surprisingly reasonable when more often than not it was him who lost his mind after a result that was hard to swallow.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. He spotted Daniel's shocked face with his mouth hanging open. The boy has never seen him angry or losing his mind, well, none of them did, because he was always the responsible one; he's never been the one for shouting or punching walls or throwing bottles in the dressing room. Only Victor ever came close to seeing his real rage but that was only because they both agreed to do so. It was a private thing just between the two of them that nobody else knew about. Well - _until now_.

Victor seemingly decided to take things into his own hands now. He grew used to his and Harry's heated fights and making ups after each and every game that didn't end in their victory. It kicked off one night after an excruciating loss - a bit of fight to clear off the air but it didn't stop there. Shouting abuse at Harry could only make him feel good for a fleeting while; he knew he was just as much to blame as Maguire, and their shared responsibility for the loss weighed down on them. A fight developed into something more, something more personal and something secret - It wasn't _really_ that different from going on a piss with mates or complaining to no end. _Really_. It was their own way of taking their mind off the mess that was their season. It was _their thing_ , born out of their shared desperation and exhaustion. Forget love, this wasn't _love_ \- this was a feeling that rose slowly since he first noticed it a few days after Maguire had joined the squad, and it's been bubbling inside Victor ever since. Something about Maguire was so despicable, so awfully disgusting - or maybe that was just what he felt when he looked at his stupid face; it was like everything he could hate merged into one guy whose dumb expression only told him ' _Fucking punch me_ ' and he was more than willing to oblige. 

To the outsiders, Harry was sure that Victor's current outburst had to seem strange, uncharacteristic for a man nicknamed ' _Iceman_ '. Harry would dare to say he knew Victor better than the rest of the team, apart from de Gea possibly; although he had his doubts about the Spaniard and Victor being involved in a heated fight in the bathroom which would somehow end up with Victor pressing him against the wall, hissing curses in between his moans and gasps for air as he plundered his mouth. 

"You two ever talk to each other?" Bruno was much closer to the truth that he could know and Harry would laugh at that if he didn't feel stupid for being scolded by him in front of all the other players like a little schoolboy. Victor's scornful look and his clenched fist, seemingly ready to punch Harry's lights out, could speak for themselves; and Victor didn't react to Bruno's scolding at all. _Of course_ , Harry thought, _Mr. Iceman-when-it-suits-him_. "The team needs you two to _work_! And work _together_!"

Victor smirked and walked towards his spot in the dressing room, deaf to Bruno's plea and the nonchalance of his behavior was enough to remind Harry why he hated and loved - _loved_? - him so much. The bastard kept his aristocratic silence as a perfect attribute of his calmness as he sat down on the bench and kicked his boots off before locking his eyes with Harry. The tension in the room only fed into the repressed nature of their feelings and Harry gulped when Victor rolled his shirt up and pulled it over his head, revealing his sweaty body and arms covered with tattoos underneath.

"You need to do something with that," Bruno nudged him, and it took Harry a moment to realize he was talking about the _lack of communication_ with Lindelöf, and not Lindelöf himself. Bruno was right, they _rarely_ ever spoke. And what they said wouldn't make much sense under normal circumstances anyway. It certainly wouldn't be any good for the teamwork, that much was clear.

"Oh yeah," Harry nodded abstractedly, still unable to tear his eyes off the show that Victor was putting on. "I will."

He will exchange a few more looks with Victor, making sure the tension is real and the promise is there, and in the evening, he will wait for the knock on his room's door, or eventually, if it takes too long, he'll go find Lindelöf. To _talk to him_ , he will try to persuade himself to believe, knowing that there won't be much talking anyway. And when they're alone, the madness will take over, because they lost, because it's on them, because their partnership just doesn't work on the pitch and because the online abuse gets sometimes out of hand and they both know it, they experience it, they live with it. And they'll do what the team wants them to, they'll make up - just like they always do after a fight; they fight to use the nervous energy bottled inside them and then make up to cancel out the negative effects of the fight, and it's a constant rollercoaster ride of highs and lows between them, and by now they've taken it too far to just stop.

Harry doesn't mind. The tension keeps him on his toes and he trusts Victor when he whimpers a quiet 'sorry' before throwing his hands around Harry's neck and kissing him; he trusts _that Victor_ , the one who doesn't want to let go of him and has to bite into his hand to keep himself quiet (so much for being _Iceman_ ) over _this Victor_ who scorns and frowns in the dressing room. 

The slap almost got him excited for what's coming next and if he wasn't a coward, he would leap across the room, grab Victor and kiss him, rough and passionate, in front of everyone, feel his smaller and seemingly more fragile body frame melt in his hands and hear the surprised gasps of everyone around, yes, that would probably feel fucking good - but he wasn't going to do it.

After all, he liked it better when Victor was in charge.


	2. Chapter 2

_Morning. Another hotel room, another day on the road. Matchday, actually._

He doesn't need to be awake until eight, and yet he's already up after half-past six. It's the prematch feeling that he gets even in his sleep. And being awake at such an early hour for him brings at least some peace to his mind because he knows the other guys in their rooms are probably still fast asleep. It gives him a chance to be alone with his thoughts, try to relax a little, maybe listen to some music, maybe watch the sunrise as he draws the curtains.

Maybe write a short message. _U up?_ And that's all. He feels a sting of excitement as he lays the phone back on the nightstand, plugging in the charger, to give the addressee of the message enough time to respond. The tingle of anticipation feels good, almost too good. He might need more than music to relax but that all depends on the answer - or whether there would be any at all.

He does a bit of stretching and then walks to the bathroom to wash his face. When he comes back, the light alert on his phone gives away the answer before he even checks his messages.

 _yes_.

There's nothing more in their conversation. After all, _they don't really talk_.

He doesn't write anything back, there's no need for it. All their messages were just as short and emotionless. The ' _name of the contact_ ' still makes Victor chuckle but _Slabhead_ just sounds so much better than _Maguire_ , and he still hasn't come to terms with calling him simply ' _Harry_ '. Harry was too affectionate, too intimate, too friendly, it could be said, maybe whispered in a momentary lapse of reason, breathed out in a muffled moan, but never fully said with a clear consciousness. He never addressed him directly, not even on the pitch or the dressing room.

Just when he returned to the bathroom to brush his teeth, he heard a hesitant knock on the door of his room. He slowly placed the toothbrush on the sink and with and glanced at his own reflection in the mirror over it. _Why though?_ He saw his own reflection smirk. _Did it matter to look good_?

The knocking echoed around the room again, this time with a slightly more urgent pace but that didn't cause Victor any rush. He ran his hand through his hair, checked that he looked at least half-awake, and only then walked slowly towards the door. Harry was leaning against the wall behind them. He always looked much younger and nicer when he wasn't wearing the full kit. 

"Hey."

" 'morning."

Victor left the door open and shuffled back to the bathroom. His wordless invitation was understood, he could hear Harry coming in and closing the door behind him. Now the excitement was real although he wouldn't show any sign of that. He walked straight back to the bathroom, leaving the door open again, and as he grabbed his toothbrush and paste, he looked in the mirror again. Harry was in the room, looking around awkwardly as if he was thinking about just sitting down somewhere or starting a conversation about the weather. 

Victor started brushing his teeth, still watching Harry through the mirror and casually leaning against the sink. He found it quite adorable how Harry was still trying to find a reason for his own presence as if he wanted to have something to excuse what was inevitably coming - he scratched his head, looked around the bedroom, then made two steps towards the bathroom and stopped himself. 

Their eyes met in the mirror.

"How are you feeling?"

Harry's attempted small-talk falls flat on him but it's part of their game. Is it still just a game? He spits the toothpaste foam in the sink and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Would that be flirting? Probably not when he's thinking about it so much. Neither of them breaks the eye-contact as Harry finally makes his mind and walks closer.

He goes back to brushing his teeth as Harry stands almost right behind him. The air grew heavier in the small room.

"What about your back?" Harry didn't give up. He's still trying to be polite, although his good English manner now bordered on real care. 

Victor shrugged nonchalantly. It took Harry a good four or five seconds to think about the next move. He made the last necessary steps towards _his_ center-half and placed his hands on Vic's shoulder blades.

Victor could feel himself melting under the touch because Harry's hands always felt so warm, big and manly, just like the man himself, and the desire to be held and touched by them was just too strong. He had no chance of keeping his cool nonchalant persona for much longer. He could feel Harry, smell him, in an animal-like way, he just knew that Harry was there, touching his back, tenderly at first but then sliding his hands lower and resting them on his hips, and it was driving him insane.

His teeth-brushing turned feverish when Harry held his hips, standing behind him, and he could actually feel him press against his body. 

"Does it feel better now?"

Victor nodded. His heart was pounding fast and he could tell that it must have felt good for Harry too because the touch of their bodies had the same effect on him as well. He spat out more of the foam and laid his toothbrush on the side of the sink, unable to pretend that brushing teeth is his biggest concern right now. He wanted to rinse his mouth but Harry moved quickly; he reached out and turned the water on, kept his hand under the stream, and then brought his hand to Victor's mouth to wipe any excessive foam or toothpaste. It was messy and the water splashed everywhere when Harry washed his hand again before turning the tap off. Victor melted into the touch, he loved the feeling of one of Harry's hands on his hip and the other just softly pressed against his mouth, his jaw, his cheeks. The urge to be held was stronger than any possible shame of having his mouth wiped by Harry's hand.

Harry buried his face in the crook of Victor's neck, taking in a deep breath that made Victor shiver - he then started laying a trace of small kisses on Victor's shoulder through the thin cloth of his white t-shirt, going lower on his arm until he was at the rim of the sleeve. There he stopped.

Their eyes met once again through the mirror. Victor watched closely as Harry's hand slid down from his mouth to his neck. Breath hitched in his throat when he felt the big hand on his neck, it was strangely arousing and alerting at the same time. Harry could have him in any way possible; Harry could manhandle him any way he wanted and if it was to feel this good, he was willing to accept it.

He threw his head back, making his neck even more exposed to Harry's hand. 

If Harry was more outspoken he surely would say something; Victor was expecting to hear him mumble something raunchy in his ear but that didn't happen. Harry only dragged his hand further down across Victor's chest and to his lower abdomen while still keeping him in place with the hold of his other hand. Not that Victor would move otherwise - he was standing in front of the sink like a man in concrete boots. The connection through the mirror was too strong to be broken.

Victor couldn't imagine looking Harry in the face - looking straight in his eyes - while doing this. He couldn't imagine kissing him, looking up in his eyes, that just wouldn't be right - this felt more appropriate. Harry coming up to him from behind and grabbing him and just - _making him feel things that he's never known_ \- that felt just about right.

Harry's hand was still wet when it stopped at the waistband of Victor's pants, hesitant. By this time, Victor's body was a bundle of nerves, oversensitive to any touch.

" _Jesus -_ ", he exhaled, closing his eyes for a little longer than he normally would while blinking. He placed both hands on the sides of the sink in front of him for more support. He actually felt quite enclosed now, with Harry pressed against his back and himself trapped between that and the sink.

" _Is it okay_?" Harry asked, kissing him randomly at the back of the neck and breathing in and out into his hair.

Victor swallowed, opening his eyes again and meeting Harry's gaze through the mirror. He nodded, unable to even find his voice. 

He loved the mirror interaction because it didn't feel real - it wasn't him and it wasn't really happening if he was watching it develop, right? It was more like watching a TV or having some strange out-of-body experience. He watched t _he Victor in the mirror_ tilt his head and swallow hard when Maguire kissed him on the neck, sucking on the sensitive skin and engaging his teeth a little bit; he watched _the Victor in the mirror_ gasp when the touches got more heated and bite his lips when Harry nibbled on his skin some more. It was almost a perverse pleasure of watching his own fantasies play out without realizing it was real. 

He couldn't see _all_ of them in the mirror, just their heads, faces, necks, and a tiny bit of chests and arms so when Harry finally slid his hand in his pants, not much has changed in the mirror image. Maybe the Victor in the mirror let out a sigh, maybe he bit his lips - Lindelöf was too focused on his own pleasure at that moment. Harry was always so good with his hands, no matter if he was just holding his hip, stroking his cheek, or actually touching him and wrapping his fingers around him. He let out a broken moan and took a stronger hold of the sink in front of him.

When Harry finally moved his hand, slowly at first, Victor looked in the mirror again. He was a mess, and Harry - _Harry, whose name he was still unable to say out loud_ \- was the one keeping him grounded, present in the moment. Harry kissed his neck, his shoulders, his arms covered in tattoos, persistent and tireless as his hand found the right rhythm. He was quiet but his breathing became more frantic and loud; Victor could feel it against his ear. He would have loved to hear more but in the end, it was him who broke the silence with a broken " _fuck_ " followed by a lengthy inhale through his nose as he tried to compose himself. _It's not been that long_ , he reminded himself. _He's not a fucking teenager to just come in his pants as soon as someone touches him_. They've done this before and they'll go on doing it until one of them grows the balls to actually talk about it. Maybe they should clear up a few things. Maybe they should stop fighting altogether, maybe sleepy morning hand jobs were not a perfect way of dealing with their feelings either. Maybe their relationship, on and off the pitch, would improve if they tried to talk to each other like normal people do. Flattening the curve of their ongoing ups and downs could make them a better on-the-pitch duo, definitely. 

_But then there wouldn't be moments like this._

Victor only realized he was moaning when Harry brought his left hand, the one that wasn't occupied, to his mouth. 

Talking about the meaning of their relationship and clearing things up would leave them both exposed, vulnerable and naked - yes, they might as well get naked, and kiss, and say 'I love you' and giggle and then wear each other's hoodie and secretly hold hands under the table at team breakfast - and that would be unbearable. Like this, there was always a hint of secrecy, a hint of distance. They were never naked. Only now he realized that. There was always something in the things they've done that felt like they were just passing by - they didn't have dates and they didn't sleep in one bed - everything felt like a sequence of _brief encounters_ of two strangers who just happened to be at one place in one time. Their paths were brought together every now and then, resulting in a clash, and explosion of emotions, passions, and feelings, and then, they were inevitably torn apart, back to the safe distance.

Harry pumped his fist faster as he brought his other hand back to Vic's hips to push down the waistband of his pants. Victor held his breath for a moment and then exhaled. The mirror in front of him steamed up. " _Come on_ ," he whimpered, surprised how breathy his voice was even in that short sentence. He knew that Harry must have been impatient as well; he was hard, rubbing against him through the clothes, and the pace of his hand grew frantic. Victor squinted, not wanting to close his eyes and break the eye contact now. " _Come on."_ He let out a grunted moan, knowing well how Harry loved those; it was written all over his face and he even bucked his hips in response. They found the perfect synchronized rhythm; Harry wrapped his left hand around Victor's waist to hold him as close as possible, and pressed his nose in the hair at the back of his head, placing gentle kisses somewhere in the curls while trying to align his own breathing with Victor's.

It's not until Harry calls him ' _Vic_ ' that he finally loses all his composure and pressed his forehead against the cold surface of the mirror which steams up with his breath again. He didn't care now. He moans against it, not too loud, just enough to let Harry know that he's close, so damn close - 

" _Yeah, Vic, yeah, come on_ \- "

Harry holds him through it all, slowing the pace of his hand and moving just his thumb when he felt the waves crashing through Victor's body; and Victor can be only thankful for the support of both the sink and Harry because his legs feel like jelly for a moment and he feels lightheaded, experiencing a minor head rush. He's hardly able to catch his breath and overcome the humming in his ears, the fleeting bliss and momentary weakness both rolling over him in waves and then disappearing, leaving him unflatteringly close to the mirror with his cheeks flushed and eyes lightened up. He doesn't even feel Harry's hand move away but then he hears water gushing in the sink and knows that it must be Harry washing his hand. He's still too stupefied and dazed to think clearly, all he can see is Harry looking down into the sink, over his shoulder, and for a brief moment he thinks about kissing him, just briefly - because their faces are so close and because it feels like a right thing to do now.

Harry's still hard and it's painfully obvious as he brushes up against him, and by the time he turns the tap off and moves away, Victor's temporary emotional weakness and thoughts about kisses are long forgotten. After all, there are better ways to return the favor.


	3. Chapter 3

" _Harry_?" Ole's voice was as calm as usual but Harry's heart still skipped a beat. What could the gaffer want? He didn't like it when Solskjaer called him over during the training sessions; he could always feel the eyes of others on himself as they were probably wondering the same as him - what does Ole want from him?

When Ole gestured to him to come over, he left the small circle to their rondo drill and quickly paced towards the gaffer who was stood aside, as usual, in his gray anorak with the letters OGS on the front, and with his hands in the pockets.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked, holding his hands behind his back. 

"What's going on with Victor?" Ole was squinting into the sunlight, his expression didn't give away any explanation to his concerns.

Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other and smiled nervously. "What - what should be going on? I don't know about anything."

"Does he always act like this with you?" Solskjaer pulled his right hand out of his pocket and shielded his eyes from the sun, looking towards the rondo in which Lindelöf took part. "When you walked out of the dressing room, he ignored you. You were talking to him, right?"

Harry lowered his head, trying to laugh it off. "Yeah, I just said something... It wasn't important. It's fine."

"He seems to be doing that all the time."

Harry looked in the same direction as Ole. Victor was currently in the middle of the rondo circle, laughing with the rest of the lads. He had to smother a smile. Happy Victor was something out of his reach, a smile on the Swede's face was just something he could admire from afar. It was never present when they were together.

"It's alright, it really wasn't important at all. I can't even remember now - " He was blatantly lying but he didn't even feel bad or remorseful about it. It was definitely better than admitting to the boss that yes, indeed, Victor Lindelöf hated him. _Most of the time_.

Solskjaer shook his head, frowing. "He's doing it all the time."

Harry tried to laugh, "I never really noticed," but Ole's face remained serious.

"Harry, I know you don't want to grass on a teammate. I respect that. But if there's any kind of problem, it's necessary to solve it."

"There's nothing to solve, really."

Ole gave him a long, inquiring look. Harry felt himself grow nervous under the gaze, although he wasn't really lying, was he? There was nothing to solve and there was nothing Ole could do, except maybe loaning either of them to a God-forgotten place on the southern coast of England, or maybe to some second-tier club in Finland so they would never meet again. That would probably solve some issues, arguably in a way that was not really helping with anything. It would always be one of them running away, leaving without any explanation or a real settlement of their relationship. There was nothing Ole or anyone from the staff could do about _that_. 

"I never see you two talk or train together. I can hardly ever see you communicate on the pitch - and that's the problem."

"I - I should probably try and be more vocal." Harry couldn't tell where this self-blame came from. He just felt it would be unfair to blame Vic who wasn't part of this discussion. "In the game - maybe - "

Ole didn't look convinced. "He's stubborn." But he smiled saying those words, like a dad condemning his son's actions but secretly feeling proud of him. "If there's something bothering him, he'll hang onto it. I'll need to talk to him."

Harry smirked. _Talking to Victor_ , that was a tricky concept. He tried to do that on numerous occasions, and it never seemed to work out. There was hardly any _talking_. He still used the words 'talk to Victor' as a cover-up, an unintentional way of wrapping the reality in a more acceptable blanket of normal interaction between teammates. He used it as an excuse, an explanation, a way of convincing himself that what happened was just _talking_ , and that's what teammates and friends do - _i_ t happened once that as he was leaving Victor's room, sneaking out, still feeling the strong, rough grip of Victor's hand in his hair, still sensing the taste of Victor because wiping his mouth wasn't nearly enough to get rid of the taste, he bumped into Dan James in the hallway. He could feel his cheeks heat up because he felt exposed as if Dan could read the embarrassing truth written all over his face, but Daniel just said 'I've been looking for you, we want to play some pool with the guys, want to join in?' and he just nodded, saying the cursed words 'Yeah, _I was just talking to Vic_ '. He went and played the pool and the whole time he wondered what the guys would say if they only knew what he was doing upstairs just ten minutes ago.

"I really appreciate that you never complain," the boss continued, "but if there's anything wrong, you still need to tell."

"There's nothing wrong." Harry managed to perform his most perfect, wide smile. "Nothing that I wouldn't handle myself."


End file.
